


The One Where Crowley Takes Out His Self-Hatred on an Innocent Plant

by strongfork



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Sad, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, aziraphale comes to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 06:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strongfork/pseuds/strongfork
Summary: Crowley comes home particularly angry, and yelling at a plant gives him a little slap to the face.





	The One Where Crowley Takes Out His Self-Hatred on an Innocent Plant

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this crying at 5 a.m., good lord.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, lips parting in an exasperated sigh, back pressed firmly against the wall. Today was a day like most others, except it was not. Today was like other days, yes, aside from the simple fact that Crowley was angry. Not at anyone, particularly. His attempts at pining and his frivolous flirts toward his angel had once again gone unnoticed or ignored by said angel, and he only supposed that was the reason he was so hot under the collar.

With a huff, he swaggered off deeper into his sleek establishment, eyes scanning his trembling plants with dangerous scrutiny. All was well with them, until his eyes fell upon a particularly drooping fiddle leaf shaking all too violently. Upon further inspection of the little tree, there were holes dotting its broad leaves, general signs of stress and withering along its branches. 

Crowley tutted.

“Is that a hole?” the demon asked.

There was no response, of course. Plants could not speak, but even if they could, not a soul would dare speak up against Crowley.

“I said,” he repeated.

“Is that a hole?”

No answer.

Crowley grabbed the poor quivering fig by the pot it sat in, bringing it close to his gritted teeth.

“You disgusting, vile excuse for a being. I have told you time and time again!”

He gave it a shake. The other plants in the room shuddered in response.

“I water you, I give you sunshine, I try to be kind, and you repay me with holes?” he snapped.

“GROW BETTER! YOU THINK YOU’RE WORTHY OF HEAVEN LOOKING LIKE THAT?”

The demon’s serpentine eyes darted to the punishment room, as he liked to call it. He hadn’t even noticed what he said just yet as he stomped off with the fig, the heels of his boots softly thudding with every step. Over the grinder he lifted the pot, staring down at the gnashing teeth and spinning blades.

“No wonder She didn’t love you. Look at you. Ugly, stupid, disgusting— You deserved to fall, you were never worthy of Her grace. You can’t even get your angel to look at you like you’re worth it. You- You shouldn’t even deserve to be walking this Earth! She should have done the world a favor and dunked you in holy water sooner!”

His hands were starting to shake, a white knuckled grip on the trunk of the fig. And he was crying. Hot tears streaked down the demon’s cheeks, teeth gritted together hard enough to snap bone.

“Why didn’t She love you?” Crowley croaked.

“You did everything to please Her. You... Y- you did everything she wanted.”

His grip loosened. The whirring grinder came to a stop.

“Why did She let me fall?”

The question was almost desperate, pleading for an answer from someone, anyone. In this case, it just so happened to be a tree.

Crowley set the pot on the floor, the sleeves of his tailored coat damp from the tears he furiously scrubbed away.

“Crowley?” came a soft voice.

And Crowley knew who it was instantly.

“Aziraphale..?” he answered softly, turning on his heel to face the angel.

Aziraphale didn’t say anything else for a moment. He had been listening, of course. He had followed Crowley home, but he couldn’t tell him that. There was a lot that Aziraphale couldn’t save; Crowley’s pride would not be one of them. Instead, he offered a smile, brows knitted in worry for his friend.

“Are you alright? I heard yelling, and I-”

“I’m fine,” Crowley interrupted, “absolutely peachy keen.”

That was a lie, both the angel and the demon knew, but neither of them cared to elaborate on that. Aziraphale straightened the bowtie around his neck (though it was perfectly straight already), approaching the red headed demon and pulling him into an embrace. A heavenly warmth spread its way from Crowley’s heart all through his body, though it didn’t burn. It was holy in its own rite, he supposed. A sort of third world they shared.

“Crowley?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley grumbled in response, too focused on clinging to his angel.

“I think you’re rather wonderful.” he continued, not a trace of insincerity in his gentle tone.

Crowley smiled for the first time in what felt like a millennia.

“You’re not so bad yourself, angel.”


End file.
